Dr Smith PhD
by Poddy
Summary: Follows the story of Dr. Barry Smith, a leading doctor at Mercy Hospital, as he is trapped on the frontline of the most virulent outbreak in human history.
1. Hypochondriacs

(a/n) This is something I had been planning for quite a while, but now I think I've finally got everything in place to actually make it happen! Seeing as the main focus of Left 4 Dead is, obviously, cooperative gameplay, this story should try and show just how vulnerable a character is when they are alone (which the main character is for the majority of the story). Each special infected can be seen as a 'boss', in a sense that the effort to overcome him (or _her_, if you know what I mean) is more than just shooting wildly and relying on your team mates, meaning our character will have to think outside the box to come out on top. Anyways, hopefully you'll enjoy reading 

Chapter 1: 'Hypochondriacs'

Doctor Smith breathed an exasperated sigh as he stepped through the automatic doors of Mercy Hospital; his pager had gone off in his pocket mere seconds into his nightshift. He let it continue blaring as he walked towards the reception desk to sign himself in. Smith peered down through his spectacles as he autographed into the blank margin, signing underneath rows and rows of the same signature, flanked by every time available on the 24hour clock.

Smith checked his wristwatch: 1 minute past 10, 2201hours, a rare dip in Smith's meticulous record, where the suffix of a '00' was more common. Flicking the pen out of his hand and hurriedly closing his file, he glanced at the ballpoint as it rolled off the edge of the counter and ticked to the floor. There was the unmistakable grumble of a young, female voice; Smith quickly fixed his gaze up and over the rims of his glasses, meeting the bright, fresh eyes of the receptionist, Brandi. Their faces could hardly be in more contrast with one another. Brandi's was bright, rich in colour even without makeup, with a flawless complexion, ruler-straight blonde hair and red-ringed lips, while Smith's lay creased, scarred, with sunken eyes that looked vacant at the most excited of times, a permanent expression of casual indifference lay like a mask over his real face, spots of grey hair spattered over his simplistic 'number 3' haircut. His co-workers joked that he was going to become a silver fox, much to Smith's disinterest.

Over 30 years of medicine had taken its toll, whittling away at the spark inside that drove Smith through the doors of Mercy Hospital a sprightly, enthusiastic young graduate, clawing at the chance to save a life. That was a long time ago, as Smith would be the first to tell you, dismissing his early optimism as blind naivety. In the present day he stood as a hollow version of his former self, almost like a returned veteran of war, gradually blending into the background. There was no doubt he was the most experienced doctor in the hospital, but extracting his wealth of knowledge required something more than a simple question, except no one knew what that 'something' was. Even his name did not lend itself to a character of interest, no nicknames like 'Smithy' or 'Smudger'; 'Agent Smith', inspired by _The Matrix _due to his formal, emotionless presence was also short-lived.

His pager still yelped for assistance as Smith stood in silence looking at Brandi.

"You gonna answer that?" she asked in her typically passive-aggressive tone. "We're busy tonight; you might want to get onto it." She finished with a sarcastic smile.

"Busy?" Smith replied flatly.

"Yeah, _'busy'_ - it means you should answer your pager. We've got a tonne of people coming in; they all seem to be 'suffering' from the same symptoms. ICU's packed to the brim, exam rooms are flooded, and don't get me started on A&E."

Smith scoffed at her reply. "Probably our regular quota of hypochondriacs." There was a pause as he seemed to mentally scourge his vast memory for examples. "Remember the swine flu 'threat' in '76?"

"I was born in 1985…" came the reply.

"Figures" Smith grumbled as he finally reached into his pocket to silence his pager. "Exam room 104" it read in its familiar block capitals. The beeping finally ceased, Smith let out another sigh. "Why can't they just ask for me in person, like the good old days" he murmured under his breath as he marched across the hall towards the exams rooms.

A part of him was eager to simply discover and they dispel the cause for the overwhelming amount of patients and get on with his normally quiet nightshift. Although he did notice an unusually high amount of patients, nurses and doctors flooding the corridors. He dodged and veered through what seemed like walls of people. Everyone travelling at the different speeds; trolleys carrying patients took right of way, tearing through and parting the sea of people with a reckless abandon for the patient on the stretcher. Smith's toes were crushed as he failed to dodge one trolley in time. He simply winced as he watched the unapologetic nurses plunged deeper into the packed halls. Some patients were even sitting down on the floor, lining to the corridors and squeezing into any space they could, the place looked like a bomb shelter. Smith was far from a contemporary man, normally deciding to live in the bubble of Mercy, deciding that watching the news would simply add another dismal layer of pessimism to his persona, his co-workers were probably grateful for his rejection of television and computers.

Had he been watching the news and reading reports in newspapers, he may have been less surprised by the influx of patients, as reports up and down the continent and across the world had been reporting a virulent disease spreading across several 3rd world countries, before finally leaking into more developed parts of the world. The spread as been so fast, even those most connected with the world of news would only have found out about its threat when it was already too late…

Smith quickly approached Exam Room 104. His pager went off again, upon inspection it was the same call from the same nurse instructing him to get to room 104. He grudgingly hurried his pace towards the room, rounding the final corner at some speed.

Suddenly, as he turned the 90 degrees left, another trolley carrying a patient came veering around the same corner. The front of the contraption speared into Smith's stomach, punching the wind out of his lungs. He quickly clutched one hand on the trolley, whilst clamping his other hand onto his hurting torso.

"Oh shi-" the young doctor piloting the device exclaimed upon seeing Smith's figure hunched over by his patient's feet. "Barry…Doctor Smith. Is that you?" he stammered. Smith's spectacles dangled precariously close to the end of his nose, he irritably peered over them, in no mood for forgiveness.

"I didn't even see you, sir" the young doctor continued as he saw his senior co-worker rise back up to his usual, bolt-upright posture.

"Don't worry. No one normally does." He wheezed, before moving back to let the trolley continue. The young man flashed another embarrassed smile before quickly returning to his ridiculous top speed.

Smith, out of interest, took a quick glimpse at the patient aboard his trolley. She was young, in her early 20s, much like Brandi. But instead of flawless skin, shimmering hair and manicured nails, her skin had turned a deathly grey in patches all over her body, her hair was an oily mess, lashing and whipping around with every spasm. She was convulsing furiously, as if she wanted to escape but was constrained by some invisible shackles on the trolley. A simple epileptic seizure he thought, but gave it no further attention, instead concluding that the girl was a junkie going cold turkey or simply fit for the local mad house.

Finally, Smith entered the Exam Room. A nurse was waiting impatiently for him, her arms crossed with her right hand furiously drumming her left arm. She was a short, plump, Hispanic woman in her late 40s; nurse Anarosa had been working in Mercy hospital almost as long as Dr Smith, though the disdain for one another was mutual. Anarosa's explosive temper during her work and Smith's sombre apathy hardly went hand-in-hand.

"About time!" she barked as he entered the room, before pointing furiously to the patient lying on the bed. The doctor closed the door behind him, choosing to ignore the nurse's fiery displeasure and focus on his patient's clipboard. He had a skim through, noting a high fever, dropping in and out of consciousness, abnormally high blood pressure and heart rate, and last of all: anomalous protuberance of the abdomen. He read the last phrase again in puzzlement.

He looked up from the foot of the bed, over his lenses. During the next few seconds, his face changed from mild confusion, to utter bafflement and then to disgust, as he gazed upon the grossly sized belly bulging from the patient before him. Smith walked around the side of the bed, unable to take his eyes off the repulsive swelling of the man's stomach. Smith's mystification was increased further when he noted how disproportionate the stomach was. The man it was attached to was of a fairly slim build, although his upper arms and legs also had some swelling, it was negligible compared to his abdomen. The patient himself was unconscious, but his face looked contorted, hunched into a snarl.

Anarosa stood there in silence as she watched Smith circle the man in bewilderment. Having been in the room for a while, her stomach had acclimatised to the sickly proportions on the man lying in front of her. Her anger was starting to turn into concern. She watched the doctor become more confused and repulsed with every passing second. She knew of Smith's vast knowledge, his experience, she knew he was wracking his brains for an answer, but it simply wasn't there. There was no eyebrow-raising, steady nodding or chin-scratching, he had drawn a blank, for the first time in his career. He just kept circling him in astonishment, unable to speak a word. In her thoughts she prayed he would find the poor man a cure, she rested one hand on the man's head and whispered a small passage:

"Be strong and of good courage; be not frightened, neither be dismayed; for the Lord your God is with you whenever you go."

Suddenly, the man's eyes flickered with life, and began to creep open…


	2. Patient Mistreatment

(a/n) Finally the Infected sh*t is going hit the Doctor's fan this chapter, so this will hopefully satisfy the needs of the average Left 4 Dead player, like myself  Thanks to KenZe for his review, it is and always has been the reader's reviews that give me the encouragement to keep writing. Without you, I'd be nothing! :p

Read, review and enjoy 

Chapter 2: Patient Mistreatment

The patient began to stir, clenching his fingers and toes. He turned his head left and right, groggily appearing to observe his surroundings. Anarosa quickly retracted her hand from his forehead in slight embarrassment, feeling at fault for acting before Dr Smith's instructions and waking him up, even if it was only a small prayer.

The man was in a daze; his head rolled itself around on its axis in a state of total imbalance. He was still only partially conscious, his eyes were vacant, as if they had rolled back in their sockets. He drew a deep breath, releasing a gurgling, guttural wheeze; Smith and Anarosa's stomachs lurched forwards as the man's hideous belly began to inflate, wobbling from side to side under its own preposterous weight. Anarosa turned away to face the wall, covering her mouth on the verge of heaving. Smith was tempted to do the same, but his eyes wouldn't, couldn't, detach themselves from the living, breathing, _monster_ before him.

Smith finally tore his eyes away, focusing again on the clipboard. He found the patient's name: 'Mr Charles Lambert' and age, 39. His nurse still had her back to Mr Lambert, sickened by the grotesque sounds of his respiration. Smith held his nerve, breaking the silence. Smith's mental routine was starting to remerge, after being lost so deep within his utter bafflement. He cleared his throat:

"Ok, Mr Lambert" Smith started in his usual doctor's spiel, a patronisingly calm tone. "My name's Doctor Smith I'm here to see uh, what's the matter with you…" he felt stupid, struggling to repress the mental script he'd stuck to for the past 30 years.

The patient let out another gurgle as he breathed in, this time letting out a short, but deep groan. Anarosa, who was just starting to turn back around upon hearing Smith speak, wheeled around to face the wall again, her left hand still clamped over her mouth. Smith's routine was still maintained, as he took the stethoscope from around his neck and began to probe and diagnose Mr Lambert.

He placed the stethoscope's pad on the direct centre off his patient's stomach. He had to reach up high to find the most central point, waiting for the belly itself to deflate so it was more accessible. Smith listened intently to the readings within Charles' stomach; his hands began to shake, as the obese, burbling freak-of-nature's movements seemed to become more erratic as Smith got closer.

Maybe it was the cold pad, Smith thought, reminded of every patient's hiss as the metal 'scope touched their flesh. Mr Lambert was much less amused. He started struggling to move his swollen arms and legs, pushing against the weight of his limbs, it looked completely futile, if not ridiculous. The doctor blocked out his patient's reaction, and listened through his stethoscope.

Smith cringed as the readings travelled from the swell directly to his ears. There was a deep, bubbling grumble from within, as if something was stewing, cooking, like a brew or a potion inside a cauldron in a fantasy story. The bubbling was punctuated by what seemed like 'pops' and quiet whistles. It resembled the inside of a volcano, a vast chamber of gas being compressed and released, an inhuman cycle of activity, within the skin of a human being.

There was a strong, irregular pulse, Smith heard. It was faint, but when it could be heard it would stop, start, stop, and then restart at twice the pace. After a particularly large gargle from the stomach, Smith listened out for the heartbeat, attempting to decipher some form of pattern within the foreign hive of activity. The seconds marched by, Smith kept completely still, listening for the heartbeat. There was silence.

"Doctor!" Anarosa exclaimed, pulling herself closer to the patient's head. "I think we are losing him!" Smith looked up to see Lambert's head had fallen limp to one side, his eyes closed and his face slowly returning to his contorted snarl. Anarosa, previously on the verge of vomiting, was inches away from the man's face as she pulled up his eyelids, checking for signs of consciousness. Smith too rushed closer, his stethoscope still dangling from his ears, the metallic pad swinging back and forth across his body.

Smith planted the stethoscope's pad higher up the patient's chest, nestling it on his ribs just before the gross swelling of his stomach. There was silence, not even a murmur through the scope, only the rustling of his skin as Anarosa continued to prod and probe Mr Lambert. Smith didn't need to speak, he looked up at his nurse and nodded, the silent transaction called for defibrillators, hoping to shock him back to life. Despite their mutual dislike, their respect and practise was seamless, as the gestures they shared were enough to convey the most complex demand.

Anarosa dashed out of the room, swinging the door inwards and slamming the wall. Smith continued to move and displace his stethoscope around the patient's chest, but to no avail. What seemed like seconds later, Anarosa rushed back into the room, followed by two more nurses wheeling the crucial machine. They wheeled it directly to the feet of the doctor, who wasted no time clinching a pad in each hand and placing them squarely on Lambert's chest, careful to avoid his stomach, and waited for the defibrillator to charge.

The seconds required to charge were agony, a small bar on the machine began to fill up as it charged, changing from red to yellow, before finally creeping up to green. It was ready.

"Clear!" Smith barked. He tightened his grip on the handles, his sweaty palms struggling. He squeezed the two buttons on each pad, pressing them down. A high pitched whine squealed from the machine, and then with a violent thump, it punched out its charge.

Time seemed to slow to a near halt, Smith could almost see the charge dissipating through the patient's body, the electricity streaking through his ribcage, down each vein, from his heart to the tips of his fingers, he saw them twitch. Almost just as quickly, Smith watched in horror as the charge seemed to travel down towards his swollen stomach, lightly spreading over the crest of it, as well as plunging down underneath it, before pushing upwards. It was beginning to swell even more, as if it were being squeezed from underneath, shifting its innards forwards and along towards the legs. He saw the skin stretch to sickly limits; the 'base' of the stomach could no longer contain the momentum travelling through it, it had to give.

It burst.

It sounded like an explosion, the stomach erupted, the skin split and released its contents. A thick, green ooze coated each person, machine and wall in the entire of Room 104. The white, clinical walls were smattered with a repulsive sludge, so thick it did not even trickle down the walls. The door had also been left open as the defibrillator was wheeled in, now on the corridor outside; there was a door-sized smear of ooze.

The pads were still in Smith's hands, still planted on his 'patient's' chest. The pads, the patient, and himself were covered from head to toe in the stuff. It turned his white lab-coat a light-ish green, his blue shirt and red tie a drab, dark purple, his black trousers were darkened ever further, whilst his black shoes glistened in their new coating. His glasses hung under his chin, the legs still clinging on his ears, of course, covered in slim too.

The burst was concussing, everyone in the room stood frozen. The expulsion was so great that the slime itself felt like a punch to the chest. The ooze on the walls finally started to trickle down, seeping towards the comparatively clean floor.

Smith finally snapped back to reality. His mind had been blank, not least because of the physical impact on his body, but the sheer shock of using such a common device with such a volatile response. He saw it all happen before his eyes, the charge surging through his patient's body, blowing him up from the inside, killing him outright. He withdrew his hands from Mr Lambert's chest, letting the pads drop off the bed on either side. Smith wiped his eyes of the sludge, trying to clear his face before realigning his glasses.

The slime was warm, almost hot to the touch. It felt smooth but sticky in Smith's hands, he could massage his index and thumb together without friction, yet when he stopped moving them they felt glued together. However, it was the smell that made the substance so hostile, it wreaked through the nostrils, headache inducing, Smith wiped his hand on his coat, before realising that every item of clothing was covered (perhaps, except his underpants), his palm was accidentally covered in the stuff.

Anarosa stood shaking, her ears still ringing from the explosion. It felt like she had been standing there for minutes, hours even, shocked that no one had come to their aid, it had only been 10 seconds. Her mouth was agape, her jaw made completely lax by shock. One of the other nurses by the defibrillator had been knocked over by the force of the blast, she was conscious, simply lying on her back, just as stunned as the rest.

Smith and Anarosa began to observe the remains of their ex-patient. The main frame of his body was still intact, the swelling around the arms and legs still remained, but the stomach was gone. In its place was a gaping hole into the man's intestines, with two repulsive flaps of skin hanging down either side of the bed. The space inside his stomach looked vast, keeping in theme with the room's new décor; it too was covered in slime, although it was tinged with blood, giving it a deeper, thinner texture. Smith wasn't ready to reach in and find out.

The seconds passed, the nurse on the floor rose to her feet, trembling like a new born trying to walk for the first time.

All their attentions were then seized by a blood-curling scream outside. The door was hanging from one hinge, dangling precariously into the corridor. The scream continued for a few more seconds, except it grew louder, richer, as if it was not just one person, but a whole crowd, screaming in what sounded like hysteria.

Everyone turned to face the door leading to the corridor, the commotion outside increased; the typical murmuring ambience of the hospital grew louder, closer. There was a crash of metal on metal, the medical trolleys tipping over or crashing into one another. The occasional shout could be heard, as the noise ascended. "Hey! Stop! No-wait!" Then came the familiar squeak of footsteps on the corridor floors, the sound of rubber-soled shoes gripping on the tiled vinyl and slipping as they left each step. The squeaking grew louder, more intense, as if it turned from a jog into a sprint. There was another crash from outside, Anarosa looked towards the doctor for some form of guidance, but Smith stayed focused on the entrance to the room.

Suddenly, with the squeaks and noise at the absolute closest, a young woman appeared in the corridor. She sprinted to her right, crashing into the wobbly door, ripping it off its final hinge and slamming it into the floor. The woman slipped on the loose door herself, collapsing to the floor face first; her arms folded beneath her.

Anarosa stepped forward to her aid, leaving Smith still staring, stunned into silence by the uproar in the hospital. The nurse knelt down beside the girl, who quickly began scrambling to her feet. The woman faced up, her face contorted into a feral scowl; she looked straight into Anarosa's eyes, her scowl intensifying.

Smith instantly recognised her: her grey skin, oily hair and ferocious energy, it was the girl from the trolley which ran into him outside, the one thrashing inconsolably.

"Ana! Get back from her!" Smith shouted, as she saw the rabid woman lunge forward. Anarosa immediately tried to retreat as the woman leapt towards her, her arms outstretched and hands clenched into fists. It was too late; she ploughed into the nurse with all the force her withering body could muster, knocking them both onto the ground. Ana landed flat on her back, her unwary head cracking on the floor beneath her. She lay in a daze, as the woman on top of her began swing wild punches at her chest and face.

Anarosa howled in pain, as the feral woman landed punch after punch with an inhuman amount of force. One punch landed squarely on the nurse's cheek, smashing her head back down into the ooze covered ground, slowly blacking out. She raised her arms in an attempt to block some of the punches, holding out against blow after blow. After what seemed like minutes, Dr Smith finally stepped in.

He lunged into the feral girl, using his shoulder to barge her off his co-worker. The girl fell back in to the doorway; Smith quickly regained his balance, just in time for the girl to launch another animalistic assault. She swung wildly at Smith's head, who tried to duck and dodge as much as his mature body could. Anarosa lay in a daze on the floor, the back of her head throbbing from its beating.

"Go! Get help!" she whimpered to the two other nurses in the room, they obeyed immediately after witnessing the senseless assault on their colleagues. They dashed out of the room, the last nurse slipping on thick slime and banging into the corridor wall.

Smith grunted loudly as he blocked another wild fist, using his forearms to cover his head and face. The girl showed no sign of intelligence or strategy; she just continued to barrage him with punches, few connecting through Smith's barrier. With each swing the girl would release an unnatural shriek, using all her energy to throw her hammer-like blows, each one knocking the wind out of the doctor's body.

"Ana!" Smith shouted over the crashing and screaming of his assailant. "Are you alright!?" he focused his attention on her as he saw blood trickling from the back of her head, infused with the sickening sludge that decorated the whole room. Smith attention was once again snatched back to _her_, as one punch flew past Smith's blocking arms, connecting squarely with his left eye. Smith rumbled in pain as he stumbled back against the wall, being careful not to slip and fall, less he fell to the same fate as his nurse. He had his back against the wall, he dodged another blow, the fist flew inches past his right ear, crashing into the wall behind him. Smith's eyes widened as he saw a small crater appear in the plaster, cracks webbing off from the centre. The power behind her punches was unreal, there must be something else driving her, in her system, Smith thought, before his mental thoughts were shattered once again.

Anarosa had managed to sit upright against the foot on the bed, her head still throbbing, her vision still blurred. She dabbed the back of her head with her fingers, checking them only to see bright red blood leaking from the back of her skull. Smith once again caught a glimpse of Ana's condition, becoming more and more infuriated as her injuries became more notable.

One especially loud shriek from the girl let her throw an impossibly strong punch, knocking Smith's forearms away and landing several blows to his exposed face. His glasses shattered on his face, the frames snapping and warping with each blow before they finally flew off his face entirely. Smith was left with a blurry image of his enemy, with hazy arms flailing towards him with seemingly limitless energy.

Smith's rage increased with every blow, as they began to land more frequently due to his impaired vision. His doctor's mentality told him that even laying a finger on a patient can be deemed as an offence, costing him his job, his career and finances, patient mistreatment was a constant factor in a doctor's mind. He couldn't contain it any longer; he had already tackled her off his nurse, which was more than enough. "A little more couldn't hurt!" he shouted as his thoughts became verbal.

The girl swung another punch, Smith ducked down to her waist level, underneath her fist, pushing his legs off the wall and squarely into her midsection, launching her across the room. The girl's head struck the side of the bed with a sickening crack, but she was completely unfazed. Smith quickly returned to his feet, losing balance momentarily on the slippery goo lining the floor. The girl was quick to recompose herself, lunging from her seated position against the bed, straight towards the doctor.

Smith once again dodged the attack, using the slime to slide to his right, out of the way. The girl flew straight past him, her right arm still extended towards the wall, her left arm trailing behind her. Smith quickly grabbed her trailing arm and wound it around his forearm; he placed one hand firmly on her back and shoved forwards.

She slammed face first into the wall, a crunch emitting from her nose and another crater forming amongst the field of others. Immediately she wheeled around, a patch of blood trickling through the slime on the wall, her nose was bent an appallingly across her face, blood streaking out from both nostrils. Smith did not take this as a call for mercy, he tugged on the girl's left arm again, drawing his right fist back and pulling her towards his next punch. He connected squarely with her jaw, knocking her off her feet and back into the wall.

Smith threw another left hook, catching her in the side of the head. She finally fell to the ground, her usual flurry of shrieks reduced to a quiet whimper. She was still stirring on the ground, rolling in the thick slime in the same blind rage.

Smith dashed over to Anarosa, who was sitting motionless at the foot of the exam room bed. She was unconscious; the wound at the back of her head caused her to black out. Smith gently leant her head forwards, trying to examine the wound through her curly knots of hair, the gradually dissipating ooze was matted in her hair, but it was beginning to thin out, making it slightly easier to observe. The slime was directly in the wound however, clogging it.

The shriek bellowed out once again, Smith only had time to look to his left before his arch-old enemy barrelled into him. The slime over Smith's coat slid her off, sending her on her back over to the other side of the room. Smith and the girl scrambled to their feet, their ooze covered bodies suggested a water fight rather than a brutal fistfight. They stood either side of the bed, as if round 2 had commenced.

She made the first move, as per usual, flinging herself over the bed on which laid the very much deceased Mr Lambert. The body provided a difficult obstacle for the feral girl, as her left leg clipped the swollen legs of the corpse, sending her headfirst into the floor once again. The corpse was flipped over to the right, dangling off the edge of the bed, his right arm and leg hanging down by the floor.

Smith pressed his immediate advantage; he swung his leg back and punted the girl in the top of the head. There was a piercing shriek from the girl once again, as more blood began to dribble from her nose and mouth. The floor beneath her face became covered in blood, as once again, her head looked up and her livid gaze fixed back upon Smith's face. Pain seemed to be no impediment, she was blinded by adrenalin, maybe narcotics, Smith thought, as she tenaciously lunged at him.

The doctor for once, felt prepared for the next assault. He stood with both hands on the defibrillator trolley, a large metallic box; it loomed over the girl as she lay on the floor, struggling for grip. She struggled to stand, instead resorting to staying on all fours, she charged forwards. Smith swung the trolley across his legs as hard as he could, trying to gain as much momentum with the metal box as possible.

The girl skidded directly into it, a dull, metallic 'bong' ensued. Smith saw the girl brace by dipping her head, but no doubt the impact would have simply shattered her spinal cord. The impact was vast, as the girl hit the trolley it crashed into Smith's knees and stomach, winding him into a stagger. The doctor peered over the top of the box, he saw the girl lying motionless, a rapidly expanding pool of blood forming around her head.

Smith's head began to throb, his hands hook from the adrenalin, but it wasn't enough to sedate the blinding pain in his head, arms and stomach. He also realised just how out of breath he had become, he panted uncontrollably as his exertion finally caught up with him. He had been a long time since he'd been that active, obviously not through violence.

Smith looked back at the craters embedded in the wall; he was staggered at the size of the girl and strength of her punches. How a young, slender girl could muster a blow that hard was impossible to fathom. Smith ran through the possibilities in his head just as before, narcotics, adrenalin, but neither of those two could possible justify her strength. He knelt down beside the second corpse in his exam room, baffled by almost every aspect of her; her skin, her resilience to pain, her limitless and ferocious rage, none of it added up. He didn't dare to touch her, he could not withstand another duel, his body was a long way past its best, he didn't dare imagine what would have happened if the psychopath was a male.

Smith's ears began to ring, most probably as a result of the pain. There was still noise coming from outside the room, the same commotion panicked rumbles outside in the corridor. There will still shouts and hollers, more and more noise began to seep through the doctor's ears as the adrenalin faded and his other senses returned.

The nurses Anarosa sent to get help had not returned. Smith's skirmish with the young girl had lasted a few minutes at least, but whether or not another doctor would have made a difference didn't linger in Smith's mind for long. Anarosa still lay unconscious on the floor, her body gradually tipping to the right, about to fall completely on her side. Smith approached her and held her upright, wiping the ooze off her face and out of her hair.

He began checking for a pulse, when he heard 'the squeaks' again. That resounding noise that rung out higher than all the other noise out in the corridors, the one that was always getting closer and faster. Smith turned to face the doorway, the door still dented and lying on the floor. The squeaks were metres away.

A man appeared in the door. His head was titled upwards, as if he was being lead by his nose towards the exam room.

"Did the nurses send for you?" Smith asked, his feet unintentionally sliding in the dissipating slime. The man's head snapped downwards, his eyes fixed on the doctor's, open as wide as they could stretch, he stared into Smith's eyes.

The doctor froze, his pessimism struck immediately. "Another one?" he murmured under his breath. He looked the man up and down, his face was young, pale, but it still maintained its fleshy pigment, there was no other skin on display, he wore mechanics overalls, with thick rubber gloves on each hand, and bulky leather boots on his feet. Smith couldn't tell, even the man's face was relatively relaxed, not in a contorted snarl like the other two.

The moment his thought process ended, the man charged. Smith didn't even have time to react, as the man bowled into him, sending them both flying onto the bed. Smith bucked wildly with his legs, he knew exactly what was coming. Smith luckily caught his foot on the man's jaw, kicking him to the side and off the bed in a heap. Smith immediately rolled off the opposite side, retreating to his trusty defibrillator cabinet.

Three gunshots pierce the room. The deafening noise echoed off each wall, Smith clapped his hands to his ears as the shots cut into his ears. He ducked down behind the trolley, his eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Slowly opening one eye, Smith looked up. Stood there was a middle-aged man, a 9mm pistol in his right hand, with a bemused smile on his face.

"Hi." He said confidently. "I'm here to see my brother Charlie, Charles Lambert?"

.


	3. Second Opinion

(a/n) Things are starting to kick off now for Dr Smith, already having two close encounters with some deranged patients, but he's only seen the beginning!

Thanks to KenZe again for his review, being my one and only supporter I guess it's my duty to listen to his advice, which was helpful and constructive, so thank you for that and hopefully this chapter will fix a few of those bugbears :)

Chapter 3: Second Opinion

Dr Smith's ears rang as he stood up to greet the armed man. He was reluctant to think of the man as a 'saviour', until he saw the body of his most recent assailant lying motionless, two bullet wounds in his chest and one put squarely between his eyes. Smith took a moment to glance around the entire exam room; it was beyond description, a mess of every human fluid imaginable.

The man attempted to shake Smith's hand, sticking his left arm forward. Smith looked at him in a daze, still shaken by the physical and mental assault on his sense.

"Oh, sorry." The man murmured as he swapped the pistol to his left hand, putting his right hand forward instead. "Not used to holding one of these things" he smiled, his hand still persisting.

"Really?" Smith answered doubtfully, judging by his marksmanship. Smith finally shook the man's hand, unintentionally wiping a handful of slime on him. The man pulled his hand away in disgust, inspecting the ooze trickling down his palm.

"Ew god what- That's gross." He said as wiped it on his trousers.

"You get used to it." Smith replied. "What the hell is _that_ doing in here anyway?" he asked, pointing at the man's pistol. "You can't just turn up here and _kill_ people, shootin' them up like it's the Wild-godamn-West!"

"Oh, you're _welcome._ Last time I looked it was savin' your ass. Although…" he trailed off after the spotting the body of the young woman by the defibrillator case. "Looks like you didn't need me." he finished, sounding slightly impressed.

"Believe me, I couldn't have taken _him_" Smith said, pointing at the latest corpse. "You came just in time." still reluctant to thank him with two words that had evaded him for decades.

"Wait, was she one too?" the man said, aiming his pistol at Anarosa, who was still propped up against the bed. Smith swore under his breath as he rushed over to her once more. She was breathing, but unconscious, the wound in the back of her head still clogged with the foreign slime.

"I think she's gonna be the least of your problems, doctor." The man chuckled, his voice tinted with exasperation. Smith turned to him immediately.

"What do you mean?" Smith enquired, staring coldly into his eyes. Smith only just realised how short the man was, scraping five foot 8 inches, compared to Smith's exact six. He was wide though, sporting burly shoulders and broad back, scruffily covered in a baggy, white shirt (aside from the odd blood stain, which by now seemed ordinary). He wore khaki trousers that seemed slightly too long, draping over his dirty sneakers. His red cap gave no hint as to his hair, nor did his clean shaven face.

"You mean you haven't heard the _noise_ outside?" he replied in disbelief. "Shit's hit the fan out there. It's like a riot or somethin'" he continued, waving his pistol at the doorway. He took a deep breath. "Anyway, like I said: I'm here to see my brother. I was told he would be in one of the exam rooms? Call it a rescue mission if you like. "

"What did you say his name was?"

"Charles Lambert."

Smith paused for a moment, briefly glancing at the deformed corpse lying on the exam room table. Over his medical career, the nervous pauses, euphemisms and comforting words had become simply embarrassing, like he was humouring the parents, children and patients alike, he opted for his direct approach, straight to the point.

"He's over there" Smith said bluntly, picking his glasses up from the floor and nodding his head at the overturned body.

The man's face dropped, his usually docile expression began to crumple with grief as he stared as the remnants of his sibling. His arms were limp by his sides, his mental anguish simply shutting down the rest of his body. Smith was used to the sorrow, pain, tears and misery of death, he'd seen every circumstance from cancer spotted far too late or the mistake of a clumsy surgeon, but this time, Smith couldn't help but sympathise. This brother's condition was the most extraordinary and bizarre he had seen in his medical career, but it was still _his _fault he died, it was _his _call to revive him with defibrillator instead of CPR, his fault he was killed outright, more than killed – mutilated.

There was an uncomfortable silence, the thought of an obligatory apology had still yet to cross Smith's mind, his old habits obstructing his manners.

The commotion outside the exam room intensified, the noise had turned into a mere ambience when Smith had been fighting for his life, but during the silence its noise had become almost deafening, the doctor snapped back to reality, appalled at himself for ignoring the shrieks, crashes and cries from outside.

He dashed into the doorway, leaving the silent man still standing motionless. Smith leant around the corner in an attempt to decipher the noise, subconsciously he prayed it had nothing to do with the 'patients' he had just dealt with in room 104.

To his right, there was a loud crash, coming from the next exam room along, 103. There were the muffled grunts and yelps of pain, then suddenly, the room's door burst open, a male nurse in a deadlock with another, much older man.

"Mister Bolonski! Mister Bolonski, stop! You're gonna hurt yourself!" the nurse yelled as the old man violently pushed him into a nearby trolley, forcing him into a trip and knocking him over. The trolley crashed down afterwards, one of its wheels catching the crazed elder, making him stumble, giving the nurse just enough time to get back to his feet.

The pensioner regained his 'composure' and began swinging wildly once again. Smith stood and watched, seeing an almost mirror image of the encounter he had mere minutes before. It was the same ferocious tenacity, the pure contempt that seemed to swallow the person whole, focussed on channelling a primeval, barbaric rage.

The nurse grabbed hold of both his attacker's arms mid-swing, despite being a young man, his strength was matched, if not surpassed by the man over three times his age. He struggled to pin him against a wall, the old man thrashing violently, swinging his legs about like an errant child. The nurse took kick after kick in the shins, his footing slipped at every blow as the tender bone was chipped away. One final kick brought the nurse down on one knee, before brutal knee to his chin brought him to the floor with a chilling 'crack'.

Smith winced as the nurse fell to the ground, releasing his grip on the man's withered but astonishingly strong arms. The nurse lay flat on his back, his head rolled from left to right in a daze, blood gushing from both sides of his mouth. His assailant stood over him, and began mercilessly punching him into the ground, letting his fists swing high into the air before crashing down into his victim's face and head.

Smith couldn't watch any more, he knew what needed to be done, there seemed to be only one way of stopping these people. He marched forwards, but was suddenly barged to one side as he saw Mr Lambert's brother storm towards the feral pensioner, his pistol at his side, the hammer pulled back.

He lunged into the man with disproportionate force, knocking the old man clean off his feet and sliding across the corridor floor. Smith cringed as he saw it happen – the man may have been old and immensely strong as a result of his indecipherable rage, but the force exerted on him verged on gratuitous.

Lambert continued forwards, dashing up to the old man before he could recover, picking him up by the scruff of the neck, his powerful shoulders coming into play. He slammed him against the nearby wall, tossing the man around like a rag doll. The old man took the blow without a flinch, bouncing off the wall and returning with a fierce head butt. Lambert stumbled backwards, his face scrunched around his stinging nose.

He lunged forwards once again, using his forearm to barge the old man back against the wall. He quickly raised his pistol, aiming it below his horizontal arm and directly into his chest. He paused for a moment; looking the man dead in the eyes, as if he was checking, just to be sure he wasn't simply murdering an old man who had taken his Monday pills on a Tuesday. The old man began to kick again, but the blows to Lambert's shins went unnoticed as he unleashed five shots from his pistol.

The shots stung Smith's ears again, and the commotion rose once again, the gunshots were far from calming. Several screams were heard after the shots went off, if the confusion and violence was this intense in one corridor, on one floor, in one wing of the hospital, then the rest of the building would be unimaginable. Panic was spreading, fast.

Lambert let the body drop to the ground, a bloody trail following him to the floor. The old man's face was contorted with rage, even in death. He collapsed face down, flatteringly revealing his backside through the back of the thin hospital gowns.

Lambert was breathing heavily; the adrenalin of the fight was surging through his system, soothing the agony in the bridge of his nose. His let the clip slip from his pistol, falling on top of the old man with a thud. He rummaged through his pockets before find and loading a fresh magazine, sliding it in with a satisfying 'clack'.

Smith rushed over to the male nurse on the ground, immobile from his beating. He quickly checked for a pulse, pressing into his neck. There was nothing. He checked his wrist, his eyes twitching from his eyes to his hands in search for a sign of life. Nothing. Smith breathed out in utter disbelief. The confrontation between the two had lasted no more than half a minute, yet the beating he suffered, from a man as impotent as he was old, as more than enough to beat him to death. Smith started breathing just as heavily as Lambert as he attempted CPR.

"Poor bastard" Lambert whispered as he watched over the doctor. He flicked the safety back onto his pistol, lowering it back down by his side. His hands were still shaking, the adrenalin still flowing. Killing the nurse's attacker had had no real impact on him, he wasn't in shock, there was no remorse, and his hands certainly weren't trembling from guilt either. It felt like justice, he saw what the old man was capable of; he _felt _what he was capable of, as another twinge of pain spread over his nose. He wasn't a stranger to firearms, but was far from an advocate; he felt he straddled the line between a safety conscious and proud gun-owner without being an irrational patriot. And he was sure he would have to use it again before dawn broke.

Smith stopped attempting to revive the nurse, he was getting nowhere; it was wasted breath. His face was now a bleeding mess, blood trickling out of his nostrils, temple and mouth. The old man had almost disfigured him, the onslaught of punches wreaking havoc on the man's face. Smith didn't recognise him, not least because of his injuries, Smith knew few members of staff, but they all knew exactly who he was, albeit for different reasons.

"Sorry, doc" Lambert said quietly, kneeling down beside the body. "You knew him?"

Smith simply shook his head before standing up. "No"

"Killed for doing his job; son of a bitch." Lambert said under his breath. His voice was barely audible as another wave of commotion swept the area.

"Ok, come on! Let's find out what _that_ is all about!" Smith shouted over the noise, being driven mad by the disorder.

"I'll give you three guesses, doc." Lambert shouted after Smith as he marched towards the main corridor.

"And stop calling me 'doc', kid. You sure as hell ain't Bugs Bunny!" Smith shouted back, as he turned the corner.

"Hey, I've got a fuckin' name too you know!" he retorted as he gave chase.

He quickly caught up with the doctor, who was standing in the middle of the hallway, completely still. Lambert jogged up beside him, and froze just the same. They both stared down the passageway, the very centre of the chaos, an endless corridor of hostility.

"Still got that pistol?" Smith yelled over the noise

"Yup, right here!" Lambert answered, raising the weapon.

"Good!"


	4. Physical Trauma

(a/n) Apologies for the wait, I've had plenty on my plate these past few weeks so I haven't had much time to write. I'll make it up to you with this chapter though…hopefully :)

Thanks to KenZe and Ace for their reviews of the last chapter, it's great to have another name added to my little list of supporters :)

Chapter 4: Physical Trauma

Lambert flicked the off the safety catch on his pistol. The usually loud 'clack' was drowned out by the overwhelming racket that surrounded them. His eyes darted along the corridor, momentarily focusing on the array of people in front of him. Nurses were crouched down next to unconscious patients slumped on the corridor floors, sometimes with anxious and crying children at their side. Others were simply lining the corridors, small groups of them huddled together, shaking, grabbing the shoulders and arms of each passing doctor or nurse only to be wriggled off and ignored.

Lambert's focus shifted towards a couple a few feet away from them. The man seemed to be having a confrontation with his partner, trying to pin her up against the wall in an effort to calm her down. Lambert focused harder on the pair, and noticed that the man was crying as he tried to constrain the woman convulsing against the wall. He was begging her to stop shaking; imploring her back to normal health, but her erratic shudders became more intense with every second.

Finally, the woman fell limp, her legs buckling as she crumpled to the floor, her arms still held aloft by her partner's arms. His face fell into shock; his cracked voice called her name louder and louder with no response.

Smith vision had yet to focus, simply scanning over the sea of people before him. The normally spacious and pristine halls were a mesh of colour, splashes of blood were a vivid red; some were soaked into clothes, creating smears of drab and dowdy coloured people, some standing, some flat on the floor. All the while nurses, doctors and trolleys dashed straight through the middle, shrugging off the desperation of the fraught people around them, determined to stick to their schedules. These flashes of white and light blue floated around as specks in amongst the mess of sick, poorly and family members.

"Doc!" Lambert shouted. He called three more times before Smith responded. He pointed hurriedly to the couple had been observing moments before, the man still stood hunched over the unconscious or dead body by his feet. Smith watched for a few seconds before nodding and approaching the couple, Lambert followed.

The couple were merely a few feet away from them, yet the sheer torrent of people meant Smith and Lambert had to squeeze, push and barge their way through to access the pair. A few clutching hands slipped off Smith's bile-soaked lab coat, whilst Lambert's drawn pistol drew attention for different reasons.

Smith knelt down next to the sobbing man, gently placing one hand on his shoulder. Lambert knelt down too, unintentionally drawing the man's attention. He looked in horror as he saw the pistol in Lambert's hand. He threw his arms around his partner, pulled her into his chest, shielding her.

"Relax, sir!" Smith was forced to yell into the man's ear. "He's not going to hurt you or your wife!" He snapped his gaze at Lambert, his eyebrows raised, gesturing him to lower his pistol. Lambert quickly obliged, hiding the weapon behind his back, but still leaving it cocked and the safety off.

"Ex-wife!" the man shouted back. Lambert raised an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the mandatory impartial nature of his companion. Smith remained indifferent as he began to forage for a pulse. The man gently released his grip, letting her lean back up against the wall. His eyes were still full of tears, but his grief seemed lessened by the doctor's presence. Lambert looked on from the side, frequently being nudged off balance by passers by.

Suddenly, the woman sprang back into consciousness. Smith's hand was gripped on her wrist, searching for a pulse when the woman's right arm tensed and violently convulsed. Smith's knuckles cracked into wall in front of him, still clasped around the woman's forearm. He winced, immediately letting go and clenching his fist. Lambert immediately knew what was about to happen. He barred his arm across Smith's chest as he pushed him off his feet, getting him clear of the woman, ready for the final stage of her sickness.

The woman seemed calm for a few seconds. The twitching began to slow and soften. Undeterred, her ex-husband shuffled closer to her, placing a hand either side of her head, tilting it towards him. Lambert's mouth hung open as the man drew closer and closer to his ex-wife, completely oblivious as to the next phase. He slowly drew the pistol from behind him, gripping it tightly as he placed it on his thigh. Smith quickly grabbed the man's shoulder, yanking him back.

At that moment, the woman jolted back into action. She leapt forwards onto her ex-partner, and incidentally Smith too. Smith rolled out from underneath the pinned man, letting him drop a few inches to the ground. The woman released that familiarly inhuman shriek, before starting to pound her ex-husband into the ground.

Lambert quickly clambered over the lying doctor, hoisting the middle-aged, surprisingly slender woman off her victim. The man's face was already bleeding after a few punches, one of his front teeth was disjointed. He tried to sit back up, but his faltering energy reduced him to lying flat on his back, one hand clamped over his mouth as blood trickled from between his fingers.

The woman continued to thrash about in Lambert's grip. He had her pinned at the shoulders against the wall, with his knees pressed into her thighs to stop her kicking, a trick he learnt from his previous encounter. The commotion in the small pocket around them began to increase, as members of the crowd spotted Lambert pinning the woman against and wall and the man bleeding on the floor with a doctor lying next to him, stumbling to his feet.

"You'll be alright!" Smith shouted, looking over the bruises on his face. "But I need you to stay away from your partner here. We're gonna take care of her and try and get her to the ICU!"

"Just say the word, Doc!" Lambert shouted back, turning his head towards them as the rest of the body struggled to keep her still. As he turned back to face the woman against, his nose was met with a vicious head butt. Lambert released his grip on impulse, stunned by the blow. The woman dropped back to the ground, and launched another attack.

She thrust herself forwards, leading with her forearms. She collided heavily, knocking Lambert into a stumble, precariously keeping his balance. He crashed into a large group of people behind him, causing a rippling effect on the whole crowd. An older man fell to the floor under the force of Lambert's momentum, which then tripped up another woman beside him. Lambert plunged into the middle of the crowd, the group of bodies providing a disturbingly soft cushion as he tried to fend off the feral girl attacking him.

The pistol flew out of his hand, clattering to a halt next to a young boy, pinning himself against the wall in fear. The boy's guardian quickly scooped him out of the way, placing him down a few feet away before reaching for the older man flattened by Lambert. She darted into the crowd, seemingly oblivious to Lambert's struggle, she reached grabbed the man by his forearms and began dragging him to safety.

The wild woman continued her assault, swinging her fists high into the air, most of which were blocked by Lambert's arms. Winding up another of her punches, she flung her right arm out to her side, accidentally smashing the mother rescuing the older man in the side of the head, knocking her out instantaneously.

She fell limp as she let go of the old man's arms, falling to the floor inches away from him. Landing the punch threw the infected ex-wife off balance, giving Lambert just enough time to land a few punches of his own, thrusting his fist upwards and into her jaw. She fell over backwards, allowing Lambert to his feet.

He hurriedly scanned the ground for his pistol. He was still being knocked left and right from the surrounding hordes of panic stricken people. His vision was slightly blurred from the quick beating, despite the fact he blocked every blow. The blood and adrenalin was still flowing from his first kill in the exam room, all his senses had intensified even though they had been subjected to constant assault.

Lambert quickly spotted his pistol on the ground amidst an endless stream of legs, shoes and movement. He scrambled towards it, diving low with his arms outstretched. He slid the last few inches along perhaps the only piece of empty floor space in the entire hall, grabbing it with his left hand. A nurse tripped over one of Lambert's trailing legs, completely unaware of his presence. She stumbled a few metres, into the back of a doctor in front of her, before falling to her knees.

Lambert felt the snag on his leg; he ignored it as he got a good grip on his weapon. He rolled over immediately, pulling his legs in with his pistol aimed squarely between his thighs. The infected woman had scrambled to her feet, in the very middle of the corridor, surrounded by totally oblivious patients and staff. Lambert swore under his breath as the woman started to lash out upon the nearest passer by, again flailing her arms, hitting several other passers-by in the process.

A small space had already cleared around her, as people dodged out of her way to avoid her hammer-like blows. Smith was immediately running towards her though, shoving her shoulder to spin her 180 degrees, before delivering a hard punch to the side of her head. Lambert seized the opportunity, jumping to his feet and charging towards her.

Smith was landed another punch on the dazed woman, making her stumble straight into the arms of Lambert. He violently dragged her aside, thrusting her into the wall. He didn't bother pinning her against it like his previous targets, he wasted no time. He raised his pistol and fired two shots into her chest.

The shots pierced through the noise of the crowds, bursting and releasing a shockwave of panic. One particularly high pitched scream acted like a starting gun for the immense stampede of people that followed. Alarm spread instantly, the groups of family members, nurses and doctors alike quickly dispersed, flooding out into the middle of the corridor and into the path of dozens of others occupying the same space.

The woman crumpled to the ground, revealing two closely paired bullet holes in the wall behind her. Lambert was quickly barged away from her by the crowd. He seemed to be caught in a current of people that even his burly structure couldn't contend with. He leant back into the crowd, locking his knees and digging his heels in an attempt to slow himself and crowd down, but it was no use. A was driven a few more metres before diving sideways out of the torrent. He still wasn't completely clear, as the tens of dozens of people ran towards the exit.

The extremely sick and poorly still lay along the sides of the corridors, being trampled and trodden on by stragglers on the edge of the group. Even some families had given up hope and abandoned them in an attempt to escape. The halls were far from empty though, as Lambert desperately tried to find Smith through the human flood.

Smith was hardly concerned with the mad rush of people, as another punch landed on the side of his head. He yelped in pain as his glasses flew the ground once again, sliding into the crowd of people, surely to be crushed. Smith's blurred vision could still make out the rampant man barrelling towards him.

Smith reacted with an underarm punch to the stomach, but it didn't slow him at all. He still came at him, raising both his arms above his head and sending them crashing down at the same time. Smith blocked one fist with his left forearm, but his blurry eyes allowed the other slip through, letting the fist smash into his mouth. Smith staggered backwards, his mouth open in an attempt to deal with the intense pain, and importantly keeping his hands free.

The man was almost twice Smith's size; the odds would have been stacked against him anyway, but being propelled by his irrepressible rage made the doctor defenceless against his unstoppable punches despite his best efforts. He thrashed about with the same ferocity, landing a blow on Smith's shoulder, shoving him into the raging torrent of fleeing people.

Smith was quickly collected by the crowd, dragged along by sheer momentum. The infected man quickly dove in after him, punching a panicking woman to the ground in the process. Smith managed to stay stationary by forcing past individuals around him, grabbing them by the shoulders and shoving them left and right. Suddenly, the huge infected man bound towards him with inhuman speed.

It barged Smith squarely in the chest, ramming him back towards the edge of the panicking flow, winded. The man was on him again, completely untaken by the momentum of the crowd. Smith quickly regained his composure, readying himself to dive into the charging man's midsection and knock him to the floor. Smith dove towards him, but was instantly met with a crushing upswing on the top of the head.

The doctor was thrown back against the wall, his skull throbbing in agony. Again the man lunged; shoving him violently into a small family huddled along the sides of the halls. Smith's weight rippled through the small group, knocking most of them over and softening his fall. The infected man was quickly on top of him again, shrieking wildly as he began to throw his punches what felt like harder than ever.

Smith groaned in pain as he conceded punch after punch. He could feel his vision darkening, blackening around the edges as he struggled to maintain consciousness. The pain was overwhelming; it cemented his body in place, afraid to move for fear of inducing more agony.

Smith's head began to tilt to one side, offering his right cheek to the man towering above him. His tongue recognised the familiar taste of blood, his nose was gushing and his lips felt as if they had been ripped apart from the sides. His ears were ringing from each blow, his body seemed to be forcing him to sleep, his eyes struggling to stay open. The temptation to give in to the pain was overwhelming, to just close his eyes and let the pain go away; it felt like the right thing to do.

"Sorry!" Lambert apologised as he collapsed into another group of people huddled around an unconscious old man, possibly their parent. He remained on his back, raising his pistol at the old woman darting towards him, her arms aloft. He dispatched three shots, all to her chest. The first made her stumble, then the last two killed her outright as she continued to stagger towards him. She dropped to her knees before buckling over backwards, blood leaking from three separate holes, one in the bottom of her throat spewing.

Lambert quickly clambered to his feet, still attempting to find Smith amongst the mayhem. Another shriek came from his left as a woman came bursting out of the stampede and straight towards him. Lambert reacted without thinking, pummelling her with bullets the moment he laid eyes on her. She instantly collapsed. A loud scream came from the other side of the crowd, it was not the scream of another infected however, it sounded distinctly human, comparatively rich.

It suddenly hit Lambert; he had just unleashed six or seven shots in a crowd full of people without even thinking. His mind instantly concluded that he had killed an innocent person; a stray bullet had killed an innocent person trying to escape. His mind raced through the worst victims: a pensioner, a mother, a _child._ Another scream broke his chain of thought, as he dove into the river of escapees.

He quickly emerged on the other side, only pushed a few metres along. He quickly looked for the source of the scream, when his gaze set upon a woman huddled against the wall, clutching her child with her hand clasped over his eyes. A few feet away from them was Smith, a burly man slumped over him, a bullet wound planted directly in his skull.

Smith rolled silently on the floor, the unbearable pain flooding every fibre of his body. Lambert gasped, it could almost be heard over the commotion as his imagination again began to fear the worst. Had he killed the woman's husband? Had he shot Smith? Was the man simply trying to help before being killed by his reckless reaction?

He rushed towards the two bodies, dropping the pistol to floor and rolling the hefty man away from Smith. He rolled him into his back, and breathed a sigh of relief. The man's eyes were empty, his face snarled and crumpled, he must have been infected. Panic struck him again as he checked over the doctor's body.

"Doc? Doc! Are you alright? Look at me, come on look at me!" he shouted, drawing his face towards closely towards Smith's. "Speak to me Doc, come on! Goddammit I haven't shot you have I?"

"Wait – _you _shot him?!" a voice called out. Lambert looked up to see the woman holding her child shouting.

"Which one!?" Lambert shouted back.

"What?!"

"Which one!?" Lambert hollered louder, both their voices still being drowned by the sound of panic.

"That one!" came the answer as she pointed at the infected corpse on the ground. Lambert released a heavy sigh, an inadvertent smile spreading across his face. "Thank you!" he shouted back, still aware of his manners.

He turned his attention back to Smith, still lying battered on the floor. He was slowly starting to come around; his eyes became fully open and blinked furiously to find their focus. He laid eyes on Lambert, his face gradually coming into focus. He didn't seem to be doing much to help, simply kneeling over and shouting in his face, not attempting the recovery position as he should, to stop Smith drowning in his own blood. Smith's stunned mind had become slightly unreasonable; forgetting the fact the Lambert was certainly no doctor, but the saviour of his life several times.

"Come on, Doc! You've gotta get up!" Lambert shouted, beckoning him onto his feet. He tucked one arm under Smith's hoisting him upwards with a grunt. They received a hard knock from a passing nurse, making Lambert stumble and nearly drop his companion. Lambert swore under his breath as the weak doctor struggled to support his own weight.

He was recuperating with every passing minute, at first leaning heavily on Lambert's shoulder, before gradually easing up and using his own legs to keep upright. He stumbled a few times, each time Lambert placed a firm hand on his shoulder to stabilise him. Smith stood using his own strength for a few moments, he ears oblivious to the noise around him. The commotion itself was starting to dissipate; most of the people fleeing had made it out of the exit doors and into the street, whilst the sick, scared and dedicated seemed to remain.

The corridor was anything but empty however, as the middle of the floor began to clear, the rest lined the halls on either side, facing each other and looking over a mess of blood, tears, upturned trolleys and bodies. They looked unfazed, most likely due to the shock of the proceedings that took place before them. Some of them even knew it wouldn't last, simply enjoying the last few minutes with their relatives or partners.

One particularly large cluster of remaining visitors began to create a fuss; they were all huddling around in a small circle. The group was near the exit, as the people still continued to gush out of the doors, the circle fell apart. A man in the centre of them burst outwards, pushing two younger men over as they tried to scramble to their feet.

The man quickly set on the two young boys, neither of which were older than 18 years. One screamed his father's name as he took a swift kick to the head, followed by more blows. The older of the two boys threw himself at his enraged father, throwing all his bodyweight into his back.

The man stumbled forwards a few paces, tripping over his son who lay huddled on the floor. The boy instantly gasped at what he had one, his face flooded with guilt; completely unaware of the extent he would be forced to go to genuinely hurt his father.

A woman still sitting amongst the remnants of the group screamed out the man's name, her voice cracking under the weight of her tears. Her cries made no difference, as the man wheeled around of the floor with a loud squeak of his shoes and charged towards his older son.

Lambert jumped as he heard the loud yelp of the son being bowled over. He turned around, Smith still with one hand on his shoulder and observed the father standing over his desperately retreating son, flailing his fists in an oh-so-familiar fashion. Lambert quickly looked for his pistol. He spied it lying empty and a few feet away. He had his last magazine in his back pocket, he thought about it no longer.

"Sorry, Doc!" he shouted, before instantly recoiling at the sound of his own voice. The noise in the halls had died down considerably, with only a few stragglers left to exit the doors. "I gotta take care of this!" he finished with a tinge of embarrassment. Smith nodded, wincing as he did and supported himself against the wall, letting Lambert rush towards his weapon.

Lambert swiped it from the floor as he walked over it, hastily jogging towards the tumultuous family before him. He foraged for the final pistol magazine in his pocket, releasing the empty one still in the weapon, swapping them in a matter of seconds. The slider clacked forwards as Lambert arrived amongst the couple. The rampant father had his back to him; Lambert slowed his pace as not to alert him.

He stopped before the youngest son, who was still spluttering on the floor, his eyes squeezed shut, unaware of Lambert's presence. Lambert quickly raised his pistol at the man's back, firing once. There was a scream from the other end of the hall, as one woman reacted to the gunfire. The father stumbled forwards, his body convulsing as his back arched backwards. He hunched over, turning to face Lambert and his firearm.

Lambert fired again, hitting him in the shoulder. The commotion around them increased. The man staggered again, blood pumping from both his wounds. Implausibly he stayed on his feet, his 'posture' returning to normal. Lambert fired his last round, the bullet sinking into his jaw and into his head, swiping it clean off. The father dropped to the floor in a heap, copious amounts of blood pouring from his face, whilst sickened pieces of cartilage lay like small islands in the lake of macabre. A small crowd dashed past, their courage evaporating in the latest shootings.

The woman let out a howling cry at the sight. She planted her head in her hands as she began to sob, not even protesting Lambert's actions. The boy by Lambert's feet however, previously stiffened by the shock of the gunshots, furiously climbed to his feet.

He thumped Lambert in the chest with all his strength, much do a disapproving grunt from his father's killer. He landed a few more punches to little effect. Lambert could barely feel them, momentarily thinking that the blows of the infected were so severe that a normal punch (albeit from a young teenager) felt like a gentle pat.

Lambert calmly returned the pistol to his back pocket, catching the boy's fist immediately afterwards. The boy struggled to no avail, as Lambert bent down to his height, keeping his face a small distance from the boy's, for fear that the kid had learnt a few lessons from the infected.

His eyes stinging to fill with tears, Lambert released his grip on the boy's arm. It fell limp to his side. "I lost someone close to me today as well…" Lambert murmured as he stood up. He quickly moved past the boy, who stood there in silence. Lambert rolled his brother over, he was still conscious, his face was had already begun to swell, the skin around his face a raw red.

The boy coughed weakly, spluttering for a few seconds before rising to his feet, one hand clamped over his swollen cheek. The mother quickly stepped in, tears streaming down her face, mascara trickling down her cheeks. She grabbed each of her sons in each hand, glancing nervously at Lambert every few seconds as she dragged her boys to safety. The rest of the family soon followed - an older man and another woman - glaring in contempt as they jogged after their relatives. They were the last to leave; the hall was now populated by Smith, Lambert and corpses.

The youngest boy stared at him the entire way to the hospital exit, the automatic doors sliding in the distance, revealing a tantalising glimpse of the outside, an escape from this small corner of hell; or so he thought.

Lambert wheeled around, turning his attention back to Smith, who was still standing, leant up against the wall right where he left him. He was steadier on his feet, casually shifting his weight from leg to leg as he massaged his head, which was no doubt still throbbing. There was a young nurse had run up next to him, her bloodied hands gesticulating in panic. Lambert raised an eyebrow as he approach the pair.

The nurse kept pointing around the corner, her face looked one of exasperation, and she seemed to be asking Smith for help. The doctor would casually shake his head, take one hand off his delicate skull and make a gesture of his own, seemingly bombarded with questions. Their conversation became more audible to Lambert as he approached, the nurse's voice breaking with every other word as she frantically mentioned her patient.

"I think I know just the cure…" Smith said as he saw Lambert approach. Another wave of pain lapped over him, he leant hard against the wall, gritting his teeth. "Would you be…so kind…as to show this…man here as well…" he stammered through the pain, weakly pointing at Lambert.

The nurse looked Lambert up and down, then back at Smith, before nervously nodding. She turned and ran down the corridor, rounding the corner at the end. Smith and Lambert looked at each other, a look of puzzlement on Lambert's face. Smith smiled wryly, before taking his weight completely off the wall, his strength still mustering.

He looked around briefly, glancing at Lambert's last kill, the infected father, who still lay in a bloody heap in the middle of the floor. He sighed incredulously, shaking his head. 'What the fuck is happening?' he thought.

"You saw that did ya?" Lambert asked quietly, lowering his head like a guilty child.

"I heard it." he replied. No more was said about it.

From around the corner came the unmistakable sound of a patient trolley, the wheels squeaking in their tight fixings. The trolley appeared from around the corner, the nurse nowhere to be seen. The trolley rolled to a halt in the corridor, strapping to it laid a man thrashing inconsolably, his entire body was tightly constrained as he writhed and wriggled.

Sheepishly, the nurse appeared from the corner as well. The man's head wasn't strapped down, allowing the feral male to thrash and twitch his head around with ferocious anger. The nurse nervously approached the trolley, preparing to give it another push towards Smith and Lambert. She approached from above the man's head, which whipped left and right in fits of rage. She gave it a small shove before quickly retreating her hands to safety. The trolley rolled forwards a few more metres as it came to a halt.

Lambert approached first, slowly followed by Smith. They stood either side, the nurse taking the safest position at the head of the trolley. Lambert immediately drew his pistol, holding it casually by the man's leg, which merely twitched against the straps. The man's energy was immeasurable; he possessed an inhuman amount of stamina seemingly fuelled by pure rage, allowing him to wriggle and convulse with all his strength, time after time.

"Goddammit put that thing away. You're not using that." Smith barked as he saw the weapon. Lambert looked at the doctor with raised eyebrows, before finally conceding with a nod. "I've got a more humane option." He continued, reaching into his pocket. He was forced to squint due to his lack of glasses, the previous pair crushed in the earlier stampede of people.

He checked the pockets of his lab coat, which by now had dried into a light greenish, with a crusty film. He then foraged into his back pocket, finally revealing a syringe. He quickly injected it into man's upper thigh, his other hand firmly clamped on the leg itself, struggling to keep it still. His thumb pressed until the contents were gone, transferred neatly into the infected man before him.

"It's a sedative." He stated, predicting the imminent question from Lambert. Gradually, the man's spasm became lethargic; his head moved with less intent, his shrieks became quieter as he tried to resist the drugs in his system. Suddenly, he fell limp, his eyes shut and his body became completely still.

The nurse breathed a sigh of relief. "Now go take him to the ICU, get him quarantined. We need to do some studies on this guy, and figure out the hell is wrong with him." He said, nodding at the nurse is dismissal. She confidently grabbed the trolley in the knowledge of her patient's passivity, swinging it around and wheeling it off down the hall.

Lambert looked at the doctor incredulously. "You couldn't have just done that before?" he asked, waving his pistol at several of the bodies littering the corridor. "Believe it or not, but I'm not really a fan of this whole business of murdering people's moms and dads!" he shook his head furiously, looking individually at each corpse he was responsible for.

"Well, I'll admit the way you do it does have certain advantages." Smith replied indifferently. "Now I need to go to my office." He began walking swiftly down the corridor.

"Whoa, whoa, wait first things first." Lambert called after the doctor. Smith stopped and turned to look at him. There was a pause as Lambert didn't know where to begin. Finally, he bawled: "What about those bodies over there? What about the people who just ran for their fuckin' lives to get out of here? What about the people we've _killed _to protect ourselves? What the hell do we do now?!" he was exhausted after his outburst, still shaking his head as he attempted to overcome the events of the previous 30 minutes.

"Well" Smith began. "All that can be taken care of, in my office." He replied in an awkwardly patronising tone.

"Are you serious? We need to clear this up, we need to help these people out!" he shouted, pointing at the several bodies lining the corridor that weren't a result of Lambert's self-defence. "We need to help _you_ too! Have you seen yourself? You were having three shades of shit beaten out of you last time I saw, now you're just going to saunter into your office and everything's going to be ok?!" he finished, his voice breaking as he began to run out of breath.

Smith humoured him for a moment, taking a few seconds to consider an intelligent answer to Lambert's concerns. "How long have you been in medicine, Mr Lambert?" he asked politely. Lambert scoffed at his question.

"That's what I thought." Smith went on, his tone became aggressive. "I am _not _willing to have some trigger-happy punk come into this hospital and try and undermine over 30 years of medical experience. First of all, I need some glasses so I can see where the hell I'm going – they're in my office. I need some new clothes so I don't go around spreading this shit all over the damn hospital – they're in my office. I can contact off duty nurses and on-call doctors and get them in here to deal with the overwhelming amount of people in here, because you can bet you're ass they'll be back – that phone call will be made from my office. Can you see a pattern emerging here?!" he strode forward towards Lambert, exasperation in his voice.

"Now, I don't know what the hell is going on here either; in the last half and hour I've been shot at, punched, kicked and covered head to toe in one of the foulest liquids I've seen in my medical career. But! We _have _to think about these things before we just jump right in. We _have _to tackle this logically and methodically if we're going to have any hope saving these people, not just killing them because of something that may or may not be in their control. Instead of shooting that man on the trolley, I sedated him, and now we have a subject to examine and we are one step closer to finding out just what on earth is wrong with him. We are one step closer already. Understand?!" Smith had continued his approach throughout, and was now inches away from Lambert's face, his brow firmly hunched and his breathing heavy.

Lambert swallowed hard, shuffling his feet a few times before he looked the doctor in the eye.

"Fuck it, alright then." He sighed.


End file.
